


this is all we got (so we might as well give it a shot)

by youareiron_andyouarestrong



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cook!Cassian, F/M, Food Trucks, Rogue One is a Food Truck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:16:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youareiron_andyouarestrong/pseuds/youareiron_andyouarestrong
Summary: in which Jyn is Cassian's business partner (and in crime if needed), and Rogue One is a food truck, Cassian is a cook.





	this is all we got (so we might as well give it a shot)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mosylu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/gifts).



“Get off the counters,” Cassian commands without looking up. 

“I’m not even  _ near  _ your prep site,” Jyn protests, swinging her legs back and forth. “I’m keeping my hands to myself, aren’t I? Haven’t even  _ touched _ your precious pile of cheese over there.”

“Chef rules,” Cassian replies, deftly spreading chicken across a dish of tortillas soaked in sauce. “No asses on the counter.”

He hears Jyn snort, but her boots hit the floor of the truck without further comment. 

They’ve been running a food truck for the past year now, slowly but surely becoming a success. Cassian provides the food, Jyn provides the legal know-how and steely-eyed stare when someone tries to encroach on their space.  They’ve garnered a loyal following for Cassian’s chilaquiles and carnitas, not to mention his  _ carne asada  _ tacos and burritos, and fashioned an alliance with the sweets truck in the space over from them. Baze and Chirrut, the most unlikely pair to sell a crepe, offer a sweet alternative when their customers are done eating, and thus far the partnership has been extremely beneficial. 

Cassian’s truck,  _ Rogue One,  _ has four crew members: himself, Jyn, Bodhi their sweet-tempered, nervy assistant cook and Kay, their incredibly bad-tempered driver who does occasionally help out back, as needed.

Jyn, Cassian’s erstwhile partner in business (and crime, as needed) doesn’t cook. Mostly because, Jyn could burn water if possible (and Cassian can’t entirely put it past her), and secondly, because she’s a little too enthusiastic about chopping up meat with knives. It makes Bodhi nervous.  “Have you eaten?” he asks now, as the corn tortillas spit and fry in oil. He’s trying an enchilada casserole tonight, to see how it goes over. 

“I brought lunch from home,” she says and he sends her a quick scowl.

“Not even  _ I  _ could mess up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” she protests defensively. 

Cassian is not fooled. “But did you?”

She glares and folds her arms across her chest. “... _ Maybe. _ ”

Cassian sighs. “Did you get a Lean Cuisine?”

“Only the  _ one, _ ” she says and Cassian groans like he’s in pain.

“I tried so hard to raise you right,” he says mournfully, and in best imitation of his mother. 

“It was a Mexican fiesta one,” she says and he groans even louder. She gives him a sly glance under her eyelashes. 

“I gotta tell you you’re kinda turning me on right now.”  

“ _ Why?” _ Cassian asks of a merciless heavens.  _ “Dios mio, por que--” _

“You are  _ such  _ a drama queen,” says Jyn, shaking her head. 

“Why don’t you twist that knife in a little higher, and further to the left,” says Cassian sourly. “It would kill me quicker.”

“It disturbs me, your ability to know that,” Jyn says, as if they both don’t know Cassian used to be a soldier, that he knows intimately well where that knife would have to go. “I’ll go beg a crepe off of Chirrut and Baze later. I think they’re trying something out new today.”

“The competition will be good,” says Cassian, already thinking ahead. The guacamole they made earlier today, the tortillas freshly pressed,  _ pico de gallo  _ chilling in the fridge--

“Bodhi texted me,” Jyn goes on. “He’ll be here at four for prep and he’s got a recommendation for a new one.  Some kid from his physics class, Skywalker, I think? Says he’s looking for some extra work.”

“If this summer’s a busy one, we’ll need him,” Cassian agrees. “Tell him to come by tomorrow at three.”

Jyn digs her phone out of her pocket, leans over and deftly flips the tortilla in the oil. “Kay will be out on Sunday, but he’ll be back on Tuesday, so that leaves me driving the truck. He also wants to bring up the possibility of selling beer with our meals.”

“We need to apply for a liquor license,” Cassian says, adding cheese to the casserole dish. “What else?”

“Nothing to new to report,” says Jyn, checking her phone again. “Except that that new truck,  _ Imperial Way _ is getting some traction. What the hell kind of name is that for a food truck anyways?”

“They sell burgers don’t they?” Cassian asks with a frown, Jyn waves a hand in dismissal.

“Burgers, fries, those kinds of things,” she says. “But their bottled water is like six dollars and I haven’t even  _ looked  _ at their menu because I think they might charge me for it.  _ And  _ they’re budging in on our space at the college quad.”

“We’ll ask Baze and Chirrut to see if they’ll think about joining us,” Cassian says, now taking the tortilla out of the oil. “What next?”

“The local high school wants us to do a deal with us,” Jyn reports. “We come in once every month, the kids get to buy their lunch. We’d make a  _ killing. _ ”

“Kay hates teenagers,” Cassian points out. 

“Kay hates everything that breathes,” says Jyn dryly. “Except possibly grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Cassian laughs in spite of himself and Jyn grins, pleased. 

The enchilada sauce is poured over, the cheese sprinkled on top. It disappears into the oven, the timer set for fifteen minutes. Cassian looks around their truck, for any one thing to do.  There isn’t, except to wait until five, which is when the first of their customers will come. 

Jyn is there, idly munching on a tortilla chip he made this morning, salt sprinkled on top, and he helps himself to one too, crunching loudly as she cuts her eyes at him. 

“Rude,” she informs him haughtily, every inch a proper English girl, and then ruins it by stuffing some more chips into her mouth to crunch even louder. He grins as she digs out an extra batch of guacamole he made for her, specifically. 

_ Rogue One  _ was never supposed to get off the ground. It was just a way to relax, because he loved cooking, because it took him out of his head, because he knew Jyn barely remembered to feed herself most days, let alone make food. She’d come around and stay stubbornly by his side, making attempts at rice that nearly set his kitchen on fire, more than once. He’d only started cooking regularly for the two of them out self defense. 

But it had become a habit, cooking for them, then Bodhi, a member of Jyn’s mathematics class, then Kay, an old partner of his, and then somehow, Jyn came up to him with a plan, a truck and a name. 

“The name was actually Bodhi’s idea,” she’d said, laying out papers for him, “but it’s a good one.”

_ Rogue One,  _ their scrappy little food truck, dealing with crowds, angry customers and weather fit to drive everyone indoors. They’d survived, thrived. 

“We gotta look around for new lots next week,” she says now, licking avocado off her thumb, “with summer coming on, we’ll need to be more places.”

He nods, hums in agreement, and because he can’t help himself, leans over to kiss the smear of guacamole off the corner of her mouth. “Greedy,” she says, amused and immensely fond and directs his mouth to the center of hers.    


End file.
